Black Eyes and Muffin Crumbs
by SolarRose29
Summary: Soon after the showdown over the Potomac, Steve and Sam begin searching for the Winter Soldier. They start in a hotel and Sam gets injured.
1. Chapter 1

**I'm the same penniless author-I still own nothing. **

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><p>The sponge-colored walls weren't any different from the thousands of other identical rooms in every other hotel in America. Setting his duffel bag down just inside the doorway, in front of the folded ironing board, Sam glanced around the rented space. Nondescript coffee maker, paper cups and sugar packets rested beside the microwave box on the kitchenette shelf. He flicked the light switch and the single bulb in the entrance way revealed the edges of a pullout couch and the shadow of the television set on the wooden dresser. Navy blue carpet muffling his boots, he took a few steps forward until he was close enough to push the button of the lamp in the living room. A circle of yellow brightened the area, reflecting off the painting of wildflowers, which was hanging on the right hand wall. A lamppost from the parking lot shone directly through the window, illuminating the cotton bedspread of the single mattress.<p>

With a contented sigh, Sam kicked off his boots before dropping onto the couch cushions. He snatched the T.V. remote and pressed the power button. The screen snapped to life, automatically set to the local news station. While a late night reporter added his scripted commentary, footage of the burning helicarriers filled the picture. Sam frowned. The snick of the door's locking mechanism's release made him jump and he dropped the remote. It bounced beneath the furniture and sent him scrambling on his knees to retrieve it. Heavy footsteps sounded as Steve entered the room.

"Okay, we're all set for-" The captain stopped short, a glance landing on the television.

"Gotcha," Sam mumbled, curling his fingers around the evasive remote. He sat up, only to find Steve staring with wide eyes at the program, now depicting the final airship crashing into the river. Hurriedly, Sam switched it off. "Hey, man, I'm sorry. I just turned it on and that was playing-"

"It's fine," Steve assured, turning to him with a tight smile. "You can keep watching. It doesn't bother me."

"Nah, I was only waiting for you." Sam set the remote on the table. "I'm not actually interested in seeing that. I mean, hey, I was there, right?"

Steve gave a small nod before lowering his bag to the ground.

"Did you wanna watch some other show?" Sam offered.

Mutely, Steve shook his head.

"Okay, so straight to bed it is," Sam declared.

"Right," Steve agreed. His gaze flickered around the small space. "You take the bed and I'll take the first watch," he stated, moving to the couch.

"Whoa. Hold on a second. What do you mean 'first watch?'" Sam queried.

"You know what a night watch is." Steve rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I do. I meant why do we gotta have one?" Sam rose and crossed his arms.

Steve's brow furrowed. "Someone might find us and-"

"Cap," Sam interrupted. "No one is going to find us. We didn't even know we'd be here tonight, how could anyone else?"

"Hydra-" Steve began.

"Is reeling from the blow you just dealt them," Sam asserted firmly. "They're scrambling to recover their losses and probably wracking their brains trying to come up with a different plan for world domination. They haven't had the time or the man power to track us down yet."

Steve didn't look convinced. Sam blew out a breath and dropped his arms.

"There'll plenty of time for us to get paranoid about someone slitting our throats while we sleep. But for now, let's just enjoy the peace and quiet while we've got it, okay?" he reasoned. "We're gonna need all the sleep we can get, so we should probably stock up on it now."

For a moment, Steve gave no answer. Sam patiently waited as Steve thought through what he'd said. Finally, Steve ducked his head. "Fine, you've convinced me. But on one condition." He raised it to look Sam in the eye.

"And what's that?" Sam inquired, curious.

"You take the bed." Steve's tone left no room for argument.

"Oh, come on, you know I don't like pillows," Sam groused in mock aggravation, secretly pleased he had persuaded the other man to get some much needed rest.

"That makes two of us," Steve muttered good-naturally, setting up the pullout couch.

They finished their nighttime preparations and Steve paused before turning off the light. "Breakfast at six," he informed his companion.

"Sleeping in or something?" Sam teased. He barely dodged the sofa cushion that came flying at his head.

"It's the earliest the hotel will serve it. Now go to sleep already," Steve retorted, without heat.

Chuckling, Sam obediently burrowed into the crinkly covers. Once he settled into the most comfortable position he could manage on the unremarkable mattress, his eyelids slid shut and he was soon in the depths of a peaceful slumber.

Hours passed and he abruptly drifted into consciousness. Frowning, he pushed himself upright, wondering what had woken him. A sliver of light squeezed between the drawn window curtains, snaking a path across the floor. Engines growling, an eighteen wheeler raced down the highway by the hotel. Shaking his head, Sam dismissed traffic as the cause. He grew up in D.C. Traffic was like a lullaby to him. Straining his eyes and ears for the source of his wakefulness, he waited tensely. After a few moments during which he detected nothing amiss, he shrugged off the incident and lay back down.

No sooner had he tugged the blanket to his shoulder than a strangled cry echoed through the stillness. Heart jolting, Sam ripped away the coverlet and sprang out of bed. He raced into the living room, stopping only long enough to smack the lever on the lamp before rushing to the couch. Lips parted to release mournful groans, Steve's head thrashed from side to side on the flat pillow. The blankets were a tangled knot between his legs, testifying to the fact that he had been struggling against them recently. Sam approached cautiously, knowing the dangers of suddenly waking a soldier. Sweat dripped from the captain's forehead and a dark stain was quickly spreading on the front of his shirt. Crouching down, Sam absently noticed the sporadic opening and clenching of Steve's left hand. About to speak, Sam was interrupted.

"Buck…" Steve murmured softly in his sleep, closed eyes contracting further, deep creases emerging at the corners. "Bucky, c'mon, jus' grab m' han'," he pleaded.

"Hey, Cap," Sam called gently.

A grimace crossed Steve's face but he didn't wake. "…no, no, no."

"Cap, you're dreaming," Sam pronounced, trying to verbally bring him to awareness.

Steve bared his teeth, hissing air between them.

"Wake up already!" Sam grumbled, worry tingeing his words.

Crumpling, Steve's facial features melted into an expression of anguish. "No!"

Sparks of light glittered on the captain's cheeks and Sam was startled to realize they were stray teardrops.

"Cap, you gotta wake up right now!" He raised his voice.

"Buck…wai'…st'p…no…!"

"Rogers!" Sam shouted.

Shivers overtook Steve's body and his mumbling twisted into whimpers and Sam couldn't stand to let him suffer one more second of nightmare induced misery.

"Steve!" He grabbed a trembling shoulder and was sent flying by a fist to his eye.

Dazed, he lay in a heap at the foot of the armchair tucked into the corner of the bedroom, on the opposite side of the room. With the half of the world he could see with his remaining eye, he watched Steve bolt upright in bed, chest heaving, breaths coming in erratic gasps.

"Bucky?" he cried out, voice breaking in a mixture of hope and fear.

"Nope, just me." Using the chair for support, Sam climbed to his feet, swaying as the room swirled around him. Already he could feel the swelling begin on the left side of his face.

"…Sam?" Steve sounded hesitant and bewildered.

"Yeah, buddy, it's me. You okay?" He returned to the couch, taking his time to make sure he didn't topple over on the way.

"I'm..fine…" Steve blinked, glancing at his surroundings as if seeing them for the first time.

"Well, that's good." Sam winced as a stab of pain pulsed around his left eye. "How about you go back to sleep?" he suggested soothingly.

"Okay…" Steve complied mechanically, body stiff as he sunk onto the couch frame.

"Is there anything else you need?" Sam questioned kindly.

A hand absently wiped away the moisture on his cheek as Steve pondered his answer. "No," he eventually replied.

"Then, good night, I guess." Sam clicked off the lamp and waited for any adverse reaction from the man on the couch.

When Steve made no protest, Sam carefully skirted the sofa and slipped out of the room, shutting the door himself to keep it from banging. The bright illumination in the hallway made him cringe as it irritated his injured eye but he walked the length of the corridor, stopping at the end, where the exit sign cheerfully glowed above a fully stocked vending machine. Fishing a couple of crumpled bills from his pocket, he fed them into the machine, huffing in frustration when he had to try multiple times before the money was accepted into the allotted slot. Peering closely at the increasingly hard to see numbers and labels, he selected what he wanted and punched in the correct combination. A bottle of Coke rattled around before dropping to the bottom of the case. He reached in and pulled it out, immediately placing it against his stinging eye. It wasn't an ice pack, but it was cold, and even if it wasn't cold enough to actually prevent any excess swelling, it still felt good and Sam held it there until the wonderful chill faded to an ambient temperature. Not wanting to waste his three dollars, he carried the soda with him when he returned to his room. He set it beside the microwave, promising himself he would drink it the next day. After maneuvering through the dim apartment, he collapsed onto the bed, mindful of his sore eye. Exhausted by the unexpected excitement, he was able to ignore the pain enough to fall back into a deeply desired sleep.

Warm sunlight tickled his nose until he left the realms of his dreams for the hospitality of the average hotel. As he opened his eyes, the episode from the night before rushed back to him, dragging a fresh bolt of pain with it. Grimacing, he gingerly explored the puffy area around his left eye. The skin was not as raised as it had been earlier but it still hurt like heck. Sam shifted his legs over the edge of the bed and dropped them to the floor. By raising his arms over his head, he stretched out the kinks in his back he'd acquired from the unfamiliar mattress. He entered the living room and was surprised to see the couch already put back into place, sheets and blankets folded neatly in a stack beside it. Slipping into the bathroom, he caught sight of his reflection. A mess of olive green and eggplant purple enveloped his eye socket and spread to the surrounding area. Sam sighed, knowing there was nothing he could do about his appearance. He left the bathroom and, as he checked the room for his missing friend, happened upon the provided alarm clock which helpfully showed him that the time was past six. Knowing exactly where to find his absent companion, Sam left the room.

The scent of hot coffee and scrambled eggs greeted him as he strode down the corridor. Soon, he came to the place where a continental breakfast was being offered. It was easy to spy the captain, sitting by himself, plate piled high with a little bit of everything. Snagging a muffin on his way over, Sam mentally rehearsed what he would say to the captain. Being a councilor to war veterans had taught Sam that returning heroes were far from stable. He held no ill feelings toward Steve for what had happened. But he also knew that some soldiers, and Steve in particular, could harbor guilt over their outbursts. Sam was determined to make sure the incident was smoothed over, with no misunderstandings or lingering negative effects.

"You let me sleep in," Sam started conversationally, keeping his tone light as he came up behind the other man.

Steve laughed quietly as he peppered his eggs. "I figured you earned it, considering it was your idea for us both to get a good night's sleep."

Speechless, Sam merely stared at the blond spikes in front of him.

"I thought about waking you but when I got up, I just saw your legs like a lump under all those blankets and you looked so comfortable I couldn't make myself do it." Steve's shoulders rose and fell in a shrug.

"You don't remember?" Sam finally got his tongue reconnected with his brain.

"Remember what?" Steve turned in his chair and his friendly expression immediately switched to one of shocked concern. "What happened to your face?"

Fingers clenching tighter around his pastry, Sam floundered for a response. His silence only encouraged Steve's anxiety and the soldier stood so quickly his chair tipped over. Reflexes working independent of his conscious thought, Steve's arm shot out and caught the falling furniture before it hit the ground.

"Sam?" he questioned nervously.

"Oh, this?" Sam pointed to the bruise that was his eye. "I got this from…hitting my head on the T.V. stand."

Steve's brow furrowed. "When?"

"Last night," Sam supplied. "It was after you went to bed. I had to use the bathroom and as I was going back to bed, I slipped and knocked my head into it."

Scrutinizing him with an intensity that made Sam want to squirm, Steve's face was unreadable.

Unable to stand the examination, certain that Steve would detect the lie, Sam reassured, "It's not a big deal. It stings a little but I've had worse."

Placated by the assessment, Steve nodded slowly. "I'm going out to get you something for the pain."

"It doesn't hurt," Sam lied.

Steve just fixed him with a no-nonsense glare. "I'll be back."

Sam watched the soldier exit the room.

"That went better than I expected," Sam informed the captain's abandoned breakfast, sinking into Steve's empty chair with a slight smile on his lips.


	2. Beer Bottles and Baseball Gloves

*******rises from the ground like a zombie* _I LIVE!_ **

**Sorry I've been absent. My internet was down and out. I'm still having problems with it so those few and far between updates are going to get even fewer and farther between. :( But I'll do my best. **

**This fic is dedicated to JuliaA****urelia, who requested a story where Steve and Sam discuss baseball. Here it is! **

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><p>With a heavy sigh, Steve slid onto the bar stool. Above the counter, a clock pointed to the early evening hour. Another fruitless day had passed him by. He tried not to think of ice glaciers and creaking metal. A squeak of shoes on floor and then Sam was seated beside him.<p>

"So." Sam folded his hands before him, tapping them once on the counter top. "I didn't know you spoke Spanish." He thought back to the conversation that had just concluded between Steve and the man they had thought to be a useful informant. Despite his claims to knowledge of the Winter Soldier's whereabouts, the man had turned out to be a dead end.

Habits too ingrained and enforced by combat caused Steve to survey their surroundings. Apart from the bar area, in the larger dining area, wooden tables and weathered chairs supported the restaurant's patrons and their meals. Drifting down from speakers in the ceiling, quiet strains of guitar music mingled with the scrape of silverware and the murmur of conversation. Waitresses juggled plates and menus, skating past on soft feet, flitting from table to table as they saw to the needs of their customers. There were no obvious threats.

Steve relaxed minutely, allowing himself to focus his attention on his friend, while keeping an eye out for any potential danger. "It's not that different from French."

"You know Fre-?" Sam started before biting his tongue. He inclined his head toward Steve. "Of course you know French. Forgot who I was talking to."

"They both share similar vocabularies and the grammar is pretty much the same." Steve shrugged.

"So you learned French during the war, I'm assuming," Sam glanced at Steve for confirmation, which was given. "So where'd you pick up the Spanish?"

"SHIELD," Steve stated simply, emotionless.

Sam leaned back, acknowledging the silent signals Steve was sending. They didn't talk about SHIELD. It was easier to talk about anything other than the agency founded by Steve's girlfriend, which was taken over by the exact enemy the captain had sacrificed everything to defeat. They just didn't talk about it.

A moment later, the bartender emerged from the doors leading to the kitchen. "It's a bit early for drinking," he commented. "You don't want your hard liquors too soon."

"We're not here for that," Steve assured him.

At the man's confused expression, Sam held up two fingers. "Just a couple beers, please."

With a shrug, the bartender retrieved their drinks, plunking down the glass bottles in front of them. "Anything else?"

Steve shook his head and the man left. After several sips of his beverage, Sam suddenly straightened.

"Oh man!" he exclaimed. "Did you see that?"

"See what?" Steve jerked and glanced around the room, scanning for threats.

"That play." Sam gestured to the television situated on the wall above the bar. "Now that's what I call baseball."

Covering his slightly-embarrasing-bordering-on-paranoid reaction, Steve tipped back his bottle and drained a third of it in one swallow. "What's the score?" he inquired, setting it back on the counter top and watching the condensation drip down the glass.

"I don't know," Sam replied, eyes glued to the screen. "Man, I don't even know who's playing." He leaned forward on his elbows. "I don't care as long as they play a good game!"

Steve fiddled with the damp wrapper encircling his bottle.

"Come on, come on!" Sam urged the players, oblivious to the stares he was attracting from the nearest diners.

Taking the responsibility, Steve met their eyes with an apologetic smile. Placated, they returned to their meals.

"Oh! So close!" Sam commiserated with the team who had narrowly missed scoring.

The station went to commercial break and the soldier used the opportunity to take a swig of his drink. With a finger curled around the neck of the bottle, he pointed the end of it at the screen. "If it were me up there, I would have kept going. Y'know, slid into home."

"You played ball?" Steve questioned.

"My mom's still got my third grade trophies displayed on the living room bookshelves," Sam chuckled.

"What position?" Steve inquired, interested.

"Second base," Sam informed him proudly.

Steve nodded.

"You ever play?" Sam nudged Steve's elbow.

"Nah." Steve shook his head. "My health never really allowed me to play outdoors."

"Oh really?" Sam snorted.

Steve gave him a self-deprecating smile. "Fevers in winter, allergies in summer and asthma all year round."

"That's right." Sam snapped his fingers. "I keep forgetting you weren't always an Adonis."

"But just because I've never played it doesn't mean I can't enjoy it," Steve pointed out, eyes straying to the game resuming on the television set.

"You like watching it?" Sam tilted his head to the screen.

"Yeah," Steve affirmed. "Of course, it's even better in person," he added.

"You've been to a game?" Sam was surprised.

"Just one. A long time ago," Steve answered quietly, lowering his gaze and sipping at his beer.

"Back then," Sam clarified.

Steve nodded. "May, 1941," he murmured. "Ebbets Field, Phillies versus Dodgers. Bucky and I-" he stopped abruptly.

Patiently, Sam waited for Steve to continue. When the seconds stretched into minutes, during which Steve rolled his bottle between his palms, Sam discreetly turned his attention back to the T.V. The teams switched position. Pitchers threw, batters hit or missed, teammates ran, fans cheered. Reporters kept up a steady stream of narration, topped with opinionated chatter. As Sam observed the game's progression, while finishing his drink, he watched Steve out of the corner of his eye. The captain was hunched over the counter, eyes unfocused as memories marched through his brain. Sam carefully lowered his bottle and subtly shifted closer to the other man, leaning just a little to his right. It wasn't enough to be intrusive but it was sufficient to alert Steve to the fact that he wasn't alone with nothing but dusty recollections to keep him company. A miraculous home run brought two runners in but Sam decided against celebrating aloud.

"It's one of the only things that hasn't changed," Steve abruptly commented.

"What's that?" Sam asked, keeping his tone purposefully casual.

"There are a lot of things still around from back then-cars, phones, radio," Steve elaborated. "But they're so different, they might as well be completely new inventions."

Sam tipped his head in acknowledgement.

"But baseball's the same," Steve stated with complete certainty, as if he were mentioning the law of gravity. "Pitchers, batters, umpire, bat, glove, ball," he straightened in his seat. "It's just nice to have something familiar around." A slight flush of embarrassment tinted his ears with pink. He hesitantly turned to face Sam. "I must sound so stupid saying stuff like this."

"You're not stupid," Sam reassured him. "Your situation is unique as far as the whole seventy years in the ice goes. But I've seen a lot of guys come back from overseas and, believe it or not, they find the familiar things just as refreshing as you do. There's nothing wrong with finding something familiar and using it as a foundation for adjustment. We see a lot of crap," he shrugged at Steve's expression. "We do and there's no way we can forget it. So when we get back, sometimes we just want to be able to have something we can count on as reliable and predictable. Something that we don't have to assess and analyze and disarm. If your something is baseball then I say amen and more power to you, brother," Sam ended with a wide grin.

"Well," Steve laughed. "Then here's to baseball." He lifted his bottle. Sam obligingly clicked his own against it. With a final understanding glance, they finished their drinks.


End file.
